Inspiration
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Birth Stories
Elian (ee LYE un) Tait P
“We fancy God can manage His world only with great battalions, when all the time He is doing it with beautiful babies. When a wrong wants righting, or a truth wants preaching, or a continent wants discovering, God sends a baby into the world to do it.” ~ F. M. Bareham
I had a boy. A beautiful baby boy. And this is how it happened.
Tuesday morning I woke up for my usual 2 a.m. pee. I’d been having Braxton Hicks since the evening before, and I expected they’d ease slightly with an empty bladder. After I returned to bed, however, the contractions got a little tighter, a bit more uncomfortable. I kept changing positions, hoping to get back to sleep, but pretty soon I was gripping my husband’s arm and breathing somewhat deeply.
He opened one eye and asked, “Are these real?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “They’re kind of strong.”
“How far apart are they?” he asked.
“Oh, maybe five minutes or so,” I said. For the record, that was completely made up. How on earth was I supposed to know how close they were? It was 2 a.m. and I was trying to get back to sleep, not counting minutes between contractions!
Marcus announced that he was going to get the hospital bag ready “just in case.” I was convinced I was, if anything, only in prodromal labor, but I got up too and kept busy since he turned the light on to pack. He finally insisted we call my midwife, who spoke with both of us. Since we live right around the corner from the hospital, I told her I wanted to labor at home as much as possible. She said fine – to me. Later I found out that to Marcus she said, “Her labor’s going much faster than she thinks. I’m leaving now and you should leave soon.”
We got to the hospital around 4:30 a.m. Just like in the movies, my husband left the car running, doors open, to check me into the hospital. We’re lucky it was still there when he finally went to park!
By the time I was in a room, wrapped in those oh so comfortable hospital gowns, I was dilated to a 7. Going too fast, sadly, for the tub, so I spent the next few hours trotting between the shower, the bed and the ball. We had packed all sorts of things to personalize my labor – a diffuser, soft lights, pictures, etc. I realized quickly that those kind of things are more helpful for the labor I was apparently doing while sleeping; from a 7 on, at least for me, my eyes were shut, I was moaning and breathing through contractions and not really aware of what the room looked like. My doula and husband were remarkable. They kept me hydrated and did helpful things like place a towel on the shower tile when I decided that rhythmically banging my head was what I needed to do to get through the contractions.
I was doing fine. Great, even. It was painful, certainly, but manageable. Then suddenly I experienced a contraction that, despite my breathing and rhythm and determination, threw me for a loop. Here’s the deal. I’d read that pushing contractions would make one feel “pressure in the bottom.” Which is like saying the war in Iraq is taking “a bit longer than expected.” Personally, I felt as if I was being cracked open from the inside, like a crab leg at an all you an eat buffet. Complete with red-checkered bib and a very hungry diner.
This I hadn’t prepared for. This I didn’t know what to do with. My midwife saw immediately what was happening and leaned in close, saying, “I know, it’s much more pressure than you could ever imagine.” Which was nice, that someone else knew. But still. I felt like I was splitting in two.
And so commenced the pushing. I blurted embarrassing things like, “I don’t know if I can do this!” “When is he coming?” and “Just get him out!” Everyone was so supportive and great, answering with honesty and respect: “But you are doing it.” “We don’t know when he’s coming out.” And “We can’t get him out, you have to do it.” That last one was what decided it – the only way to stop the crab leg buffet was to get down to business, so I just began pushing with everything I had. No strategy, no counting, no anticipation, just bearing down and pushing with all my body. I’d rest, even sleep, for thirty seconds or so between contractions.
Finally my doula leaned in and said, “I saw your son’s head. He has dark curly hair!” Which was extremely reassuring. The head part, although it was nice to know he had hair too, I suppose. But I’d started worrying that all that pushing wasn’t doing anything, so it was very encouraging to know he was moving down.
I’d spent the entire time pushing on my hands and knees, but as he began crowning my midwife had me lay down on my side. I finally got his head out and thought, “Great! In the movies, this is where the baby slips out like a seal!” But my little seal got stuck, so they spent a few minutes wriggling and turning to get his shoulder out – and then, then, THEN he slipped out!
He was blue and beautiful. They suctioned him and rubbed him and my husband crowed with love and I kept saying, “It’s over. He’s here. I’m done.” Later, in my recovery room with a pink baby boy and a small ring of burst blood vessels over my right eye from pushing I looked out the window and was amazed to see cars driving. What were they doing, acting like it was any run of the mill day?
I had a boy. A beautiful baby boy. And I can’t wait to see for what purpose he was sent to this earth.
Elian (ee LYE un) Tait P.
7 lbs 7 oz.
Born January 29 at 9:21 am